


Bemily Oneshots

by UnholyHelbig



Series: Tumblr Prompts [5]
Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Smut, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2019-10-16 08:59:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17546621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnholyHelbig/pseuds/UnholyHelbig
Summary: A collection of one-shots focused on Emily Junk and Beca Mitchell requested on Tumblr.





	1. High Stakes

**Prompt:** **Bemily, keeping secrets?? Maybe.**

 **Emily would usually** blame her insane ideas on her lack of sleep. She would toss and turn and fight the edges of drowsiness through the night until something, and she wasn’t ever sure what would overtake her. She also realized, with innate sensibility, that there was no rational reason for her to be pressed against a tree in a freezing cold park in the middle of winter.

Yeah, she could explain away a lot of things. Like how Stacie would creep around downstairs, not from a late-night hookup, but for the secret stash of Swedish fish that she kept taped under the kitchen sink. How Chloe would paint her fingernails only to soak them in remover moments later without slathering them in more pigment.

What she couldn’t’ quite get a grip on, was Beca.

Beca who was usually quite rude when it came to everything  _other_ than being invited in. She would rock uneasily against the balls of her feet until she was kindly told to pass the threshold. Emily had seen it three times, and on the third, after a bit of waiting, Beca cunningly smiled and uttered the phrase “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Emily had questioned her once and got an elbow to the ribs before Beca simply said “Dude, manners.”

She had let it drop after that. She had let a lot of things drip through the floorboards. Like the way Beca stayed up late just like her and came back in right before the sun rose. The way she would sleep through most of the day and glower in the darkest corners of the house, and never eat with the rest of the girls. (Had she tried the garlic pesto sauce Emily whipped up for her cooking class?)

So okay, maybe Emily had been watching too much Netflix, and maybe she had spent way too much time in the dusty part of the library reading through old literature, but she was thoroughly convinced. Convinced enough to hold the wooden stake close enough to her chest to splinter.

Beca was breathing out against the cold air, her breath pressing so easily into the night. Emily wasn’t sure what she was seeing exactly- The older girl looked impatient, pacing back and forth with her hands shoved in her pockets. She would move her eyes to her wrist, reading the time on her watch a few times before she stopped mid-step.

There was a boy, one that was equally as bundled up in his jacket and scarf. Beca held out money to him, and he counted it with due diligence. His dark hair fell into his eyes as he lilted his head to the side and said something too low for Emily to hear.

This was an insane idea, Emily decided, of course, Beca isn’t a vampire. A drug dealer was a bigger possibility than her roommate and mentor being a blood-sucking demon. Even still, she didn’t loosen her hold on the stake, she leaned closer to the tree. She couldn’t hear a damn thing from here.

Beca had devilish smile against her lips that sent chills against Emily’s spine. Stupid chills that she could pin on the cold of the night. The woman leaned forward, so close to the boy that he stiffened as she pressed her lips against the pulse point in his neck. He groaned audibly and stretched to the side.

Emily let out an alarming squeak as her boot collided with a thin patch of ice at the base of the tree. She stumbled forward, losing her grip on the wooden stake she fell flat on her stomach. Beca instantly pushed the man away, letting out something of a growl as Emily finally got a good look at the stranger’s face. It was stoic but shocked. Like he had been caught behind the black curtain in the back of a video shop.

Emily groaned into the grass, not caring how much dirt got in her mouth. This was it for her. Beca Mitchell was either going to gun her down or suck her veins dry. Either option felt like a far stretch. If she just played dead- maybe Beca wouldn’t notice.

Beca cleared her throat, crouching down next to the girl sprawled out on the ground. She noticed the stake first, and then the cross around Emily’s neck, and even more, the bottle of holy water (labeled with masking tape and sharpie) at the base of the tree.

“Legacy,” She acknowledged her presence, picking up the stake and twirling it in her hand. Emily let out another groan and lifted her face from the dirt. “Hi.”

Emily sighed heavily “Hi.”

“Listen, man, I’ve got stuff to do after this so can we hurry up a little?” The boy said impatiently, crossing his arms over his chest. “You can do your brooding when I’m not on a tight schedule.”

“Fuck off, Tom.” Beca stood, whipping around as she aimed the stake his way like the shaft of a rifle. “You haven’t paid me shit yet. If you want to go, go.”

He scrunched his face into a frown before planting his hands on his hips and staring between both girls. Tom grunted before shaking his head and walking along the path in the opposite direction that he came. Though a tool, Emily felt her stomach drop. This left her alone with Beca.

“Give me your hand.”

“What?” She squeaked.

“Emily, let me help you up.”

She eyed the woman for a second but was ultimately pulled to her feet. Her ribs ached where she had landed, and she took a sizeable step away from Beca to the point where she could almost touch the bark of the tree that had fatally exposed her. She wondered what she would have seen if the ice hadn’t been there. What Beca would have done.

“What’s with this?” Beca asked, scowling at the stake in her hands. She picked at the tip of it, looking up at Emily after a few seconds. “Did you pull this from a construction site or something? There’s still dirt on it.”

“I uh,”

“You know, if I  _was_ a vampire, I would hope that you would use something a little more dignified than a stick from the ground.” She took a step forward and Emily took one back, stumbling once more as her spine hit the tree. “Though, are we quite sure that’s not a myth?”

Emily could feel the hot breath on her throat, her cheeks flushing with color as she yelped in surprise at the sheer force of Beca driving the wooden stake into the tree right above her shoulder. She flinched, fingers going up to the golden cross that hung around her neck.

“I can’t decide what bothers me more, Emily. The fact that you were spying on me, or the fact that you were right.” She laughed an angelic sound despite the demonic stare that flashed near her eyes. Her voice was velvet and her body pressed against Emily’s in a way that stirred up an overwhelming heat in her gut.

“I was  _what?_ ” Emily dared to speak.

Beca smiled and it was cunning, but softer than the smirk that she offered Tom earlier. She pulled away and let out a more genuine laugh this time. The kind that Beca had displayed in front of her and only her when the two of them were cornered in the studio or working on choreography. “Come on, Em. I’m messing with you.”

“Huh?”

She let the tension drain from her shoulders as Beca shoved her hands in her pockets and lifted her eyebrows at the girl that had practically morphed into the tree behind her. “Vampire’s, really?”

“Then what the hell was that all about?” Emily asked, clearly frantic as she thumbed the cross around her neck, the chain rubbing a raw spot against the soft skin of her neck. “You were going to bite him!”

“No, I was going to give him my rates.” Beca said, snorting “Tom has repeated the History of Music seven times and has been paying me to do all of his homework. We meet up late at night because Barden has been cracking down on that shit.”

“Oh… What about never coming into peoples houses without being invited?”

“I told you, dude, manners.”

Emily narrowed her eyes for a moment before bursting out into a round of laughter herself. This was one of her insane ideas. The kind that had her making little hats for Tupac out of construction paper in the middle of the night. The kind that had her going to the legends professor and begging him for the signs before taking the only holy water that he had. (She may have lifted it from his office and didn’t even want to begin to question her morals there)

“Oh my god, vampires.” Emily calmed down enough to wipe the tears from her eyes “That’s crazy. I’m so sorry Beca. You know how I get. Totally wrapped up in things.”

“No sweat, Em. Just no more spying alright? And get rid of that damn Holy Water, it skives me out.” Beca chuckled softly and pried the stake from the side of the tree before she walked back towards the house, smiling to herself. Emily drew her shoulders back and looked around at the objects she had brought to her.

“You coming?” Beca stalled, turning slightly in the path. “It’s late and you never know what’s lurking.”

“Yeah, yes.” Emily nodded, falling into step next to Beca, who had shockingly been very chill about everything. “Why don’t you like Holy Water?”

“It usually burns when I touch it.”

Emily stopped in the middle of the path, Beca continuing to walk with ease as the younger woman gaped at her. “Wait, What?” she got a slack wave in response “Beca?!”


	2. Love NO.9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Bemily, Love potion number nine.

Emily Junk was never one to believe in magic, not the real kind anyway. She would watch Disney movies until her heart was set on a handsome prince that defeated an evil stepmother to earn her waiting hand in marriage. The way a little fairy would sparkle around a boy who never aged. The way an apple dipped in poison eventually lead to something better.

No, Emily Junk didn’t’ believe in magic. Not the kind in the storybooks.

That didn’t’ exactly explain why she was in the French Quarter on a smoggy Wednesday evening. The air was thick, dizzyingly so, a harsh brine of sweat coated any inch of exposed skin. She tried to cringe away from the bright neon signs and the scent of burning sage. Beer bottles littered the sides of the long stretch of bars and nightclubs. They all buzzed with different music, all carried the same carefree lifestyle that New Orleans would give anyone searching hard enough.

She had shoved her hands in her pockets, frowning at the ground in front of her as she walked. She would nod politely at the people who stood at the booths, the ones stationed on the side of the road with foldable tables littered in different hexes and hoodoo. They would grin at her and spout anything they could to sell her something she wouldn’t’ be able to take on the plane back home: Dried bat wings, protective crystals, devil water.

She needed to clear her head.

Emily walked until her feet ached until the world around her had grown quieter. The willow trees loomed on the sidewalks now- no storefronts, not intoxicating odors of fried food and vomit. Nothing but the cooling effect of old manors and iron-studded fences. Spanish moss hung low and street lights burned with the intentions of oil lit lamps.

The young woman let out a breath that she didn’t know she was holding. Her lungs were stinging as she plopped down on a metal bench at the end of a street. She had just enough light to stare ahead, just enough to make out the above-ground cemetery and the legends that went along with it. Too bad she didn’t have any chalk. The iron gates groaned in the wind.

Emily shifted, palming her face in her hands as she drew in evenly. New Orleans never claimed to be a city of love. Not the way Paris did. It had a looming tower that was perfect to drop down on one knee and produce a ring that would have eaten up half of her savings. Emily had been to Paris. She had been to England and Amsterdam and _all_ of those places had been more romantic than fucking Louisiana.

Yet, Emily found herself quelled with worry.

She knew she was royally fucked the second she agreed to spend the month here in a shared apartment with Beca Mitchell of all people. A writing job that had her ghosting for a woman who couldn’t’ quite hold a pen anymore. It just so happened that an old friend from college was living here. Thriving here.

Emily didn’t’ notice it at first, the way her stomach would churn in something of admiration for the older girl. The way she would melt when she was given a smile because they were few and far between. They meant more that way. She would make Emily coffee too, pushing three creams and two sugars into the boiling liquid before sliding it over in a wordless effort.

Beca would record hallmark movies that were relentlessly advertised for the two of them to watch, even when Emily forgot and Beca snorted at the predictability of it all. She held her when she had too much to drink and left aspirin on the side table for the next morning. They were all little acts of love without saying the real thing, and it had the writer swirling.

“You look distraught.”

Emily snapped into attention at the words, letting out a yelp of surprise as her heart somehow jumped from her chest into her throat. If she had her keys, she would have grasped blindly at them. She regretted taking the bus across town to clear her swimming thoughts. She pressed herself closer to her side of the bench, not having seen the woman who settled at the other end.

She looked kind enough, if not bundled in layers that were far too thick for the spring heat, different prints and jewelry sprinkled her person. Her eyes were a different cadence of grey. So pale they were almost spectral. She supposed it wasn’t odd to run into someone else out here. It _was_ a bus stop. She was being irrational.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, darling.” The woman’s voice shook, and Emily wasn’t sure if it was from age or exhaustion. “are you alright?”

“I-Yeah, yes. I’m fine, thank you.”

Emily most certainly was not fine and the stranger could instantly tell with the thinning of her lips. She shifted the bag in her lap and it rattled like glass that hadn’t been entirely emptied. It wouldn’t’ be noticeable if it wasn’t so earth-shatteringly silent in this part of the neighborhood.

“Mm, you have love on your mind child.”

“I’m sorry?”   

Emily had run into some odd people in this city. The worst was a guy with pointed canine teeth and the scent of cherry syrup on his breath. In hindsight, he was just a performer trying to push tickets on tourists for a ghost tour around the quarter, but Emily was well above the legal limit and was convinced he was going to tear into her neck. This woman wasn’t far off from that and she had a feeling that she had been in the graveyard across the street with the other aspiring witches.

“You’re pining for someone and you worry that she doesn’t see you in the same light of day?”

“How do you know that?”

The older woman shrugged her shoulders and the ghost of a smile edged at her lips. Emily was tempted to walk back into town. To be engulfed in the sound of jazz music and anything but here. Anything but on edge and completely alone with a woman who seemed to stare right through her.

She didn’t’ answer her, instead choosing to dig around in her giant burlap bag while muttering something to herself. Emily was sure that if she pressed herself any harder into the metal bench than she would become a permanent fixture there for tourists to take pictures with.

“I have just the thing for that.” The woman said more clearly “no, no… it’s not that. Ah, here we are!”

The stranger thrust her hand forward and Emily flinched. She expected something like a shrunken head, or the blade of a knife to find its way into her abdomen. Instead, it was a small bottle. One that looked like it could have been used for a perfume sample from Nordstrom. It was amber in color and a piece of evenly cut parchment was taped to the front. _Love NO.9_ it read.

She frowned at it. When she first moved here, she was accustomed to being conned out of her money. A mixture that was supposed to spur luck would be lemon water. Something to edge her anxiety was just ground lavender. Simple explanations that never had the magical properties those who peddled in the quarter claimed.

“A love potion?”

“Yes,” She grasped at Emily’s hands, pulling them forward as she transferred the item into her palm. It was heavier than Emily thought. She had never met a more forward salesperson. “Sprinkle a bit of this into her food and you’ll be able to tell if she sees you as you hope she does.”

“I’m not poisoning Beca.” She found herself saying.

“Not poison my dear child. Clarity.”

Emily huffed out a breath. Was she actually considering this? It wasn’t rational, no, not in the slightest. She had no idea what was in this little vile, but it looked like water, it could be so much more. A little something from a stranger with ghostly eyes. It was insanity. It was reckless. It was a possible end to the madness of wishing for answers.

“That’s all I have to-“Emily cut herself off. She was alone. No woman with an oversized bag and glassy stare. No one begging her for money in exchange for a product that never did what it claimed. The headlights of the city bus lit up the street, brakes screeching against the yellowed pollen. She glanced back down at the glass vile.

“you getting on or what?”

The thick southern accent pulled her from her haze. She felt fuzzy like she had dipped her fingers against the cool edge of a mirror, touching something that wasn’t quite there, and maybe it never was. Emily pocketed the vile and boarded the bus, picking a seat in the very back by the window. She was thankful for the cool air.

She rode in silence until it got to her stop: A small apartment over a bookshop. Beca claimed she picked it because it was the only quiet part of the city. But Emily found new books around the house all the time, stacked on the coffee table, dropped down by Beca’s bed, and around her office.

Emily let the door fall softly behind her, relishing in the air condition. Her skin felt tight and her eyes were tired. She let her shoulders lose their tension as she walked. The apartment was quiet, a single light on the end table lit up a small section of the living room. Beca was curled up on the leather sofa, the throw from the back of the couch draped over her shoulders as she snores peacefully, a pillow hugged close to her cheek.

The younger girl smiled to herself, carefully shifting the blanket up to cover the woman up completely. She grabbed the leather-bound book that was to her side making sure the page was marked before placing it on the table next to a few beer bottles that looked to be empty. Beca had her mixing program up on her laptop, clearly exhausting her creativity to the point of drinking and ultimately giving up in favor of Dickenson’s short stories.

Emily scoffed and grasped the bottles, setting them down in the kitchen sink before she filled a cloudy glass with a good heaping of water. Beca would wake with a headache.

She opened the cabinet as quietly as she could, rummaging past the different bottles of medicine until she found what she wanted. She shifted a bottle of cough syrup out of the way, and cold medicine from when both of them caught something nasty in two different areas of the city. And a glass bottle, a small glass bottle that was amber in color and small in size.    

Emily held her breath again, slowly pulling it from the self as she squinted in the near black of the kitchen. The pad of her thumb ran over the parchment that was taped as she read the brown ink with contempt. She reached into her pocket, feeling the near identical bottle right where she had shoved it.

 _Love NO. 9_ it read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I just really love this, okay. But I do promise not all of these will be supernatural. it's just kinda worked out that way so far.


	3. Bite Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Bemily Vampire Au part 2??

**Emily had read**  somewhere that sometimes, only sometimes, people could use sleepwalking as an excuse for the actions that they take. Leaving cabinets open, forgetting to lock the front door, even murder. Her psychology professor called it somnambulism. Killing while asleep.

She wasn’t going to take a life, but she wasn’t exactly sure what she was doing standing in front of a giant black door. Maybe she was sleepwalking. Maybe she was supposed to be tucked away in her bed, with her childhood bear curled into her chest. Maybe she was meant to just turn around now. Instead, she knocked.

It was cold outside, her breath forming in the air as the front porch light bathed her in a warming glow. She had been here for parties before when more than one shot had already been downed and makeup had already been greatly applied. But now she was in pajamas with little ducks on them. Now she had no idea what she was doing here.

“Emily?” The boy who answered the door rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes, his sweet and supportive eyes that were lined in red. His white t-shirt was stained with Cheeto dust and his fingers carried the same orange coating. “What are you-? Is Beca okay?”

“Beca is  _fine,_ ” Emily said, pushing her way into the Trebles house.  

She glanced around for a few moments. The house was mainly quiet, and a glass of half-full water was resting on the granite counter. Jesse glanced around too, letting the door close softly behind him before he turned around and scratched the back of his neck.

“That’s not very convincing, Em.”

“Sorry if I woke you.”

“You didn’t’. Benji and I are playing a rousing game of Call of Duty. Couldn’t’ sleep?”

She hesitated then, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. She averted her gaze and shoved her hands into her duck pants. She was wearing mismatched socks and sandals, there were bags under her eyes, and she knew she looked like a mess. A different kind of mess than Jesse, but a mess.

“No, not really… I uh, Can I ask you something?”

Jesse grasped the glass of water before raising it to his lips. He took three big gulps, lifting his eyebrows. He didn’t’ bother to catch the liquid that dribbled past his chin and soaked into his already stained shirt. He reminded Emily of one of those gamers on television that would marathon a certain point and click adventure. She wasn’t sure what was worse, the fact that they had broadcasted the event or the fact that she ate up every second of it.

“When you and Beca were dating, did you notice anything weird?”

“I thought you said Beca was okay?”

“Oh no, she is. Trust me, she’s fine. I mean… not really fine, I guess. Because if I’m right about all of this than she is way far from fine and just-“Emily took a steadying breath and Jesse wiped his mouth on his arm like a child chugging fruit punch. “Can you answer the question?”

He hesitated again, chewing on the inside of his lip. Emily was beginning to think that this was a bad idea. The worst idea. If Jesse had to think this hard about his ex-girlfriend being odd, then it wasn’t noticeable enough to be a problem in the first place, right? That meant that Beca very much had a beating heart and Emily could chalk this up to sleep induced actions.

“Everything about Beca was an enigma.” He finally sounded out, “I should have known that from the second she said she didn’t’ enjoy movies. I mean, what human doesn’t like Spielberg?”

Emily didn’t’ think this was the right time to bring up the fact that she preferred Wes Anderson. Instead, she sat there patiently and examined his words. “What do you mean by  _human_?”

“You’re funny. I have to tell Chloe to ease up on your Cardio and let you get some rest.”

The young girl didn’t find any of this funny, not remotely so. Instead, she let out an exasperated sigh and plopped down in the leather bar stool while Jesse set his glass in the sink with a dull thud. She could faintly hear the sound of shots being fired upstairs, maybe even the rustling of chip bags. He stopped chuckling when he got a good look at Emily’s deadpan expression.

“Look, Legacy, I like you okay? But I think we both know that this is something you need to let alone.”

“Is there something to ignore, then? Jesse, I need to know that I’m not insane. I need you to tell me that I’m not crazy.”

“If it eases your mind at all, you’re not crazy.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He let out a heavy sigh and ran his finger through his mane of hair. It jutted out in crazy odds and ends but he didn’t seem to mind. Emily had only seen Jesse with nothing but composure, and maybe even an aloof moment here and there when he got a couple of drinks in him. But never this, never this stressed and panicked feeling.

They sat in a stalemate for a while, the sink dripping every once and awhile while Emily’s eyes continued to stay directed at the counter. “I thought I was crazy too, you know?” He spoke, “at first, I thought that I was absolutely insane for falling as hard as I did.”

“ _What?_ ”

“For Beca- it’s okay to fall for her, you know? She’s charming that way, and she’ll let you down easy.”

“That is not what I’m talking about in the slightest.”

“It’s not?” Jesse shot his eyebrows up “Then what  _are_ you talking about?”

Emily narrowed her eyes before shoving her chair back. It was loud, the legs scraping against the wooden floor. She cringed away from the sound and stood quickly. Jesse watched her with curiosity, scratching at the back of his neck. She shouldn’t have come here- it was a mistake, just like sneaking out and spying on Beca had been. “I should be going.”

“Alright, that’s alright.” The treble eased out before leading her to the door. She felt the chilled wind, smelled the impending snow in the air. She hugged herself closer out of instinct as Jesse ran his hand against the wooden frame. “You know, I went to Professor Clive too.”

“I’m sorry?” Emily asked.

“When I first started to feel things were off. I went to him and he said that I was too much into the lore. Too much into my own mind.” He laughed dryly “I think the exact words he said were  _you’re not in a teen movie, Mr. Swanson. There is no such thing as vampires.”_

Emily’s breath caught at the words. She hadn’t exactly said it, not since Beca shoved a stake into the bark above her shoulder. Because it was something of lore. Beca didn’t sparkle in the sun, and she certainly didn’t burst into flames.

“What did you do?” Emily finally asked, voice hushed.

“I left it alone. Just like you should. Let it go, Emily.” He sighed “Just let it go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I promise these won't all be supernatural.


	4. Show Me Your Teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Okay, so like... more Vampire Bemily because I like the dynamic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, again, 3/4 chapters of this have been in the same universe so should I just- you know, make a book of oneshots?

**The headphones blasted** against her ears, a steady rock song bathing her mind in a certain numbness that echoed her thoughts. She placed her thumb at the top of a blunt wooden edge, moving the knife forward to the sky in a calculated curve. It was almost like clockwork for her now- mind racing as the shavings collected against the edge of her bed.

She was thankful for Lily’s absence, even though she didn’t mind the girl’s mute company. Bur right now, she needed to be alone to think. Think about everything. It was hard to do with her roommate casting worried glances at her every few moments. There had been more lately.

Emily hadn’t slept much since her conversation with Jesse. She wasn’t sleeping much before that either, but now it had gotten worse. It had culminated in her sitting crossed legged on the center of her bed carving poorly thought out stakes from wood she got in the discount bin at the hardware store in town.

She knew she was being irrational. _Vampires_ of all things, they were fictional- bloodsucking demons that only existed in poorly thought out films for teenagers and in a darker form, a reiteration of Vlad the Impaler. Certainly not a senior music major that lead an acapella group in Georgia.

“What are you doing?”

A certain ice moved through her veins as she ripped the earbuds away fast enough to create a dull ringing in her ears. Solid eyes moved to the door, the door that was creaked open to the hallway, Beca leaning against the frame with two eyebrows raised and her arms across her chest. Emily would rush and throw her little hobby aside, but instead, she just blinked, lowering her headphones to her lap.

“I uh, I tried to knock.” She said easily “But you couldn’t hear me.”

Emily nodded and Beca pushed away from the frame, taking a few steps forward until she was at the edge of Emily’s bed. She hadn’t been here in a while. It smelled like incense and that wasn’t just because Lily would burn it religiously. This was sage, and it bit at her throat ravenously. Emily’s side of the room had gotten darker, the lights dimmed, and different archaic books stacked up on her night table, marked with multi-colored sticky notes.

Beca picked one up, running her fingers over the raised leather cover. “Historia inmortuorum.”

Emily flushed and suddenly became glad that she kicked her Latin dictionary under her bed when she was looking for her left shoe the other day. Beca had the perfect pronunciation, again her eyebrows furrowing before staring up at the freshmen.

“That’s some pretty heavy reading, Em.”

She set it back down and a hiss of dust moved into the air but neither of them mentioned it. Beca lowered herself onto the corner of the bed while Emily hugged her legs closer to her chest. “What are you doing up?”

“The internship ran later than I thought. We had a client that had too many demands to count. I had to sit in on his sessions and take notes.” She sighed heavily, flopping back on the bed “ _He likes two sugars in his coffee, Reggie, did you get that? Write that down.”_

Emily nodded at that, trying to stifle the smile on her lips. Beca was charming, even in her fit of frustration her attention was captured. Her t-shirt rose slightly from her tight-fitting jeans, exposing a bit of skin. She swallowed roughly.   

“So, what is this?” Beca changed the subject once more, grasping the makeshift stake and raising it to her eyes. They hardened.

“A new hobby. Carving.” Emily said, resting her chin on her knee “It’s a duck. Well, supposed to be a duck… _quack._ ”

“Right,” Beca twirled it slightly. “Because to me, it looks like you didn’t exactly forget about that little conversation we had last week.”

“What conversation? I don’t remember that conversation.”

Beca raised an eyebrow and propped herself up on one elbow. Even to Emily, it didn’t’ sound convincing. It was the only thing she was able to think about for a long time, even before she slid on ice and face planted in front of her captain. Her very, possibly undead, captain who was staring at her evenly. It made her blood feel cold and hot all at once. Beca turned on her side and stared up at her.

“You’re either making a very pointy fence, or you’re protecting yourself from me.”

Emily’s cheeks turned an odd shade of red before averting her eyes to the phone that as still looping music over and over again. Some sad song that was still blasting from the headphones. Beca pulled herself into a sitting position and crossed her legs in front of her, facing the younger girl. She set the stake aside.

“Are you afraid of me, Emily?”

“No-“ She blurted out quickly, eyes flashing with a burst of emotion. She sighed and shook her head. “I’m not afraid of you, Beca. I’m just… curious. Confused.”

“Because you think I’m a vampire?”

“Because I know you’re one.”  She rushed out “I know you said you weren’t… told me that I was just imaging things, but Beca, I really don’t think I am. I need you to tell me… I need to know that I’m not insane.”

There was a thick layer of silence, Beca balanced the stake in her fingers. It wasn’t as sharp as it could be, way better than the little plank of wood that the girl pulled from a construction site. Maybe it was even more dignifying.

“Look at me?” Emily blinked, staring down at her duvet until the little flowered design became blurry and unrecognizable.   

Beca placed her cold touch under Emily’s chin, raising her eyes towards her. They were red, and her breathing was shallow. “You’re not _completely_ crazy. I think I need you to follow me, now.”

Emily sucked in an even breath and relished the cold touch that Beca possessed as she cupped her cheek. It seemed to quell the fire that stirred within her. She was face to face with someone she had personified as a monster for so long, and yet, she felt no fear. Not the fear she could practically taste with Jesse. The same thing she felt in the quad that night. This was different.

Beca got up from the bed and lead her blindly into the dark hallway. They crept against the wooden steps, avoiding the third one from the bottom completely. It groaned like the rest of the ghosts in this house and it was sure to open up the doors of the girls. It was impossible to sneak in after a late night.

A bit of that fear was back when they stepped through the kitchen and stood by the basement door. Something she would never open. She wasn’t even sure if her fingers had touched the doorknob before, but Beca fished easily under the collar of her shirt and pulled out a silver-plated key.

“What? I am not going down there. It’s haunted.”

It was a hushed whisper. One of the first things that the girls had told her when she moved in was that the place had a cacophony of ghosts. She heard banging from down there when she was by herself trying to study for a test- of course, she wasn’t going to go down there, especially not with Beca Mitchell of all people.

“Please, that’s just something we say to keep you guys from going down here and poking into things that you shouldn’t.”

_“We?”_

Beca rolled her eyes and unlocked the door, it creaked from its sparse use. There was an instant smell of must that most basements carried, the stairs descending into darkness. She reached up and pulled the little cord to a light bulb. It buzzed when it clicked on and made it look less intimidating. Light always did.

The air grew colder the further they went down, and Emily was convinced she could see her breath. The floor was refinished tile, but her socked feet hit carpet as they wondered further into the darkened room. It was bigger than she thought, but Emily didn’t think much. Beca reached for another light.

Emily couldn’t stop the gasp that moved past her lips. There were bookshelves lining the wall, deep cherry wood: it held books as old as the ones she had up by her bed, though, something told her that these were easier to get. The refinished walls were painted a golden yellow, three cork boards were pinned against them, covered in photos.

There was a black freezer, one that held a similar lock to the door upstairs. Emily breathed in and stared around the room. The room she had no idea even existed: Beca rocked back and forth of her feet, eyes downcast and hands tucked behind her. Like a kid caught shoplifting.

“What the hell is this place?”

She didn’t’ wait for an answer as she stepped forward and peered at one of the cork boards. The pictures were old, pictures that were clouded in a brown, or even black and white sheen. They were tacked up, badly taken at some points. Emily moved her finger against the edge of a polaroid- a simple party picture in what looked like an elegant mansion. Beca stood against the steps, a darkened dress, nearly glowing eyes against the camera.

Aubrey was there. Stacie was there. But she didn’t’ recognize anyone else. There were dozens of them- pictures in different settings, different clothes, and documents. She wanted to read them all, ask about them all, but no words formed in her throat. Not even when Beca stood next to her and peered at the collage.  

“it’s impossible to go through life this long and not go unnoticed.” She drew in a breath “We don’t stay in one place for too long, you know? People start to notice when you don’t age. When you don’t move on, have kids, fall in love.”

Emily’s eyes were glossy. There was a picture of what looked like a farmhouse, all three of them looked the happiest there. Smiles big. Aubrey’s arms were over Stacie’s and Beca’s sounders, there was a barn and another woman that she didn’t’ recognize. She glanced over at Beca.

“You are very keen, you know?” Beca took a step back, a ghost of a smile on her lips as she ran her fingers over the edge of the black freezer. It was Emily turned in her stance, crossing her arms over her chest. Beca squatted down and fished another key from her pocket. “Most people don’t pay much attention to the brooding music major with ear monstrosities. I’m easy to forget.”

She unlocked it with a small pop and flipped up the iron edge. Beca stood and kept her hand on the lid, a blast of cold air moving through the already cold basement air. An unnatural blue light was illuminating Beca’s features as Emily peered down into the freezer.

There were blood bags, wrapped in plastic and almost black when they were stacked like that. Beca breathed in thickly and Emily reached forward, touching the cool liquid through the hazy material. There were things written on the side, types and medical records.

“You’re a fucking idiot, you know that, right?”

Beca chuckled and shook her head “what?”

Not only had she never heard that langue from Emily Junk, but she was also not expecting it. Not in the light of this situation. They were staring down at something clearly lifted from the local hospitals, and Emily didn’t seem to blink an eye.

“The fact that you-“Emily slammed the freezer shut, her words jumbled as she turned to face Beca, “You said that you’re easy to forget. That you can just go through life without a care in the world and no one will notice you? What you are?”

Beca raised an eyebrow.

“People won’t see the way that you like two sugars in your coffee. Or the way you frown each time you can’t figure something out you stick your tongue out of the corner of your mouth like it will magically help you focus.” She stepped closer, anger biting at her tongue. “You think it’s impossible for me to not pick up on the fact that you’re a bloodsucking immortal when you use phrases like _back slang it,_ because What the fuck does that even mean? What the fuck does any of this me-“

The older girl surged forward, both her hands cupping Emily’s already scolding cheeks. Her touch was cold and dominating, Emily freezing up under her touch before melting away like batter. She breathed in the musty scent of the room, the minty taste of Beca’s lips. She nipped lightly at Emily’s lower lip before pulling away almost completely.

Emily blinked, leaning heavily against the freezer. She swallowed thickly,

“Are you done?” Beca asked, sliding the edge of her thumb near the corner of her mouth.

“NO!” Emily huffed, throwing up her hands. “Yes…”

“I’m sorry,” Beca’s voice was low “That this is something I had to hide from you. That’ it’s something I have to hide from everyone. But this? This place, and your… You have to stop killing yourself over this.”

“What do you expect me to do, Beca? Forget all of this happened?”

“No, no I don’t want that.” She whispered, shaking her head. “I want you to go upstairs. I want you to throw away that stake that you carved, not well, by the way, and I want you to go to bed.”

There was a beat of silence, Emily peering around the room and then at Beca. She could still feel the numbing tingle of her lips against the immortals. It was a craving, a craving or a tinge of regret, she couldn’t’ tell. She hated how she curved under the girl's touch in a matter of seconds. How it made all of her anger vanish.

“Did you think this would help? That seeing all of this would ease my mind.”

“I thought it would answer some of your questions.”

“It’s given me more.”

“That I _will_ answer.” Beca concluded, running a hand through her hair “But for now, tonight, I need you to stop. Just stop that mind of yours and go get some rest. Can you do that? Please?”

Emily felt a sudden weight of exhaustion that she had been fighting off all this time. Of course, she was tired. It was three in the morning. She had just been led into a basement of secrets, and quite frankly, she just wanted to crash. But part of her didn’t want to give Beca the satisfaction.

“Go,” She whispered. “I promise I’ll explain in the morning.”  


	5. Ghostly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be the "There's only one bed" Prompt for Bemily week, but this is as far as I got. Let me know if you want another part to this, because I kind of like the dynamic.

**Emily Junk hated** the way the camera bag pulled against her shoulder. She knew they made things like these for comfort. The strap was padded, and it was meant to ease the way it would cut into skin. But still, she hated the extra weight that it added to her already lanky frame. She wormed her thumb against it, picking the lesser of two evils.

The duffel bag in her other hand was pulling against her fingers too, but somehow, that hurt less. It felt like when she wanted to only make one trip into the cold garage, and she piled up the groceries against her palm. It was odd, but she felt safer in here than she ever did in that old house. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that this place was vacant. Empty of all memories other than the ones falsely generated.

The floor groaned under her shifting weight as she set her equipment down. She had placed it by the staircase. The museum committee had taken their time to find old Victorian style frames to place the prints of the Kelley family in. There were little plagues that she didn’t’ bother to read glued underneath. She knew the stories.

“We just need you to sign these,” Chloe’s voice echoed down the long corridor. “They’re simple release forms. You can feel free to read through them if you’d like. Basically, says that whatever content we film here technically belongs to the network- though, if we find anything, we will give you your own copy.”

Chloe changed up the speech every single time, but she still produced the same clipboard with the boring legal papers that Emily probably should have taken the time to read, but she never did. She was under a different contract. One that thrust her into the semi-spotlight of a travel channel. She set up the tech, filmed a couple of sessions in an old room here and there, but she was never the main investigator, never wanted to be. That was Beca’s job.

“You feel that draft?” The owner asked, nervously jingling his keys. He was a stout man who inherited the place and turned it into a tourist trap. There were the usual ghosts, and shadow people that he claimed to see.  A woman in white. A child that had died on the edge of the property. Mirrors that would suddenly grow smudged with little hand prints. Classic. “It gets so cold in here.”

Chloe nodded with a hum and took the clipboard back. They both felt the draft, but of course, it could have everything to do with the fact that the front door was open. And the floor was slopped. Warped from old age and heavy foot traffic. It made the gaps against the doors wider.

“Em,” Chloe let the paper fall and shoved the board into her fingers “Initial here,”

Emily took the paper and did as she was told. Chloe still highlighted her space, even though she had done it dozens of times by now. _EJ._ It was warped and slanted with the way Emily held it, but she quickly passed it back and knelt down by the duffel bag, letting the sound of the zipper echo.

“You really think you guys can find something?” Mr. Sullivan asked, his face looked redder than it did before.

“Sir, if there is something to find, we will find it.”

The room seemed to halt when Beca Mitchell spoke. Her one foot was on a step, the next one lower. She had shed her jacket and it left her in the logoed t-shirt with the small little ghost on the breast. A tattoo stretched across the sleeve of her right arm, and the beginning of one was started on her other. Chloe tucked the board against her side and squinted her eyes. Bold to go upstairs without the wavers.

Emily suppressed a smile and focused on pulling out the blue masking.

“Are you implying that all the recorded experiences here-“

“No, no, not at all.” Chloe cut him off tenderly. “That’s not what she meant… just, in our line of work, it’s not proven until we get some concrete evidence is all. You must understand, we’ve run into a lot of people who want the publicity. Fishing wire and all.”

He eyed Beca suspiciously, but she produced a ghost of a smile. It was almost cocky. Her midnight eyes flicked towards Emily with a lifted chin. “You ready?”

Emily simply nodded and shook the roll of tape before following Beca up the long stairs. She couldn’t’ imagine how this was ever a functioning house. She lived on the top floor in university housing for a while, fresh out of high school- and she could barely handle the stairs then. These were looping and had a long landing that was easy to wobble against.

“Right, so from what Sullivan said, Mrs. Kelley hung herself from the chandelier,” Emily said as soon as they reached the top of the stairs. It was all based on grief, a young woman who had access to a rope. They had seen stuff like this before, felt the heaviness in the air. “I think we need to put a camera there.”

“It swings?”

“Violently.”

Beca nodded and Emily knelt on the cold hardwood. She taped a small ‘X’ with the masking tape. Beca watched her carefully as she bit into the corner, ripping the rest away. She was used to setting up stuff like this. It gave them a basis to aim the cameras, made it easier for Emily to view the footage when she knew exactly where things were pointed.

Emily stifled a groan as she rose to her feet and followed Beca into the master bedroom. There was a rose-colored quilt, and a creepy rocking chair placed in the corner. Mr. Sullivan had placed a modern oil lamp on the end table next to an old copy of Pride and Prejudice. Emily hadn’t heard many stories about this place. Not this room. She didn’t read the notes Chloe typed up, not extensively, before she fell asleep in another hotel room bed.

“You have no clue what happened in here, do you?”

“Nope.”

“Didn’t think so,” Beca smiled broadly and it made Emily’s skin hum, or maybe that was the energy that this place produced. She didn’t like the owner’s demeanor, but it wasn’t her right to judge when she was being paid to loan her expertise.

“Hm, that predictable, am I?”

“No, not at all. I did see your left-over plate from room service this morning, though. You usually pass out after having _nothing_ but chocolate cake for dinner. But who am I to judge?”

Emily’s cheeks reddened as she dropped her eyes to the floor. She always had a sweet tooth, and there had been a ton of options on the menu, but the cake was the only thing to call her name. She scarfed down about half of it before falling asleep as Beca predicted. “I have a sweet tooth, bite me.”

Beca lifted both her eyebrows and started to explain the history of the room. The eldest daughter, Laura Kelley, had been found murdered on this very bed. Shot between the eyes. It’s what drove her mother to suicide, and what drove Mr. Sullivan to put up another one of his black plaques.

“Does the bed shake, then?” Emily asked, running her thumb over the edge of the tape. “Rocking chair move on its own? Scent of blood?”

“Bingo.” Beca deadpanned “People report feeling cold hands through clothes, and when this place was a bed and breakfast, there were reports of guests being held down, though, we can chalk that up to sleep paralysis.”

“Most haunted room in the house?”

“Bingo again, Junk. Which is why you’re setting up two cameras” She beamed “You’re staying in this room with me tonight. Not in that cozy little van of yours outside.”

Emily’s mouth was suddenly dry. She felt so safe on these little adventures of theirs because most of the time, the Network played things up. They would feel a cold spot here and there- the screen would flash to her in the van outside with a cheap walkie-talkie and she would direct the team towards the spot in the house with the strange lights that always turned out to be from a car. Most of the time she would nod off herself, watching the girls struggle to sleep in haunted rooms or old jail cells.

“I’m sorry?”

“Network wants to see more of you,” Beca said plainly.

“By sleeping in a bed that shakes?”

“Don’t forget the smell of blood.”

“Oh, how could I?”

Beca squinted her eyes with that same devious smile. Emily had learned early that the young woman was a bit of an adrenaline seeker. If she heard a noise, she would follow it, felt a draft she would press her ear to the floor. Emily was just a tech girl. She felt safe in the van. She had snacks.

She didn’t seem to have any convictions as she leaned against the dresser with her arms crossed over her chest. Emily couldn’t’ tell if being with Beca tonight instead of Aubrey was a benefit or a curse. She was reckless and impulsive, and from what Emily heard, a radiator for heat when she slept.

“I don’t have much of a choice in this, do I?”

“Not really, sweetie.” Beca lilted her head “You’re under contract.”  


	6. She Protecc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Until the day you learn how to start a normal conversation, I will have to be there to fix the messes you make.

**Emily Junk had**  gotten bloody noses before. When she was in third grade her mom strapped her into the back seat and took a profound trip to the Yellowstone National Park. The altitude had gotten to her in the blink of an eye and her nose was gushing blood like cherry syrup over crushed ice. That time, it wasn’t her fault- even if she did almost give her mother a heart attack.

Right now, however, her head throbbed, and a metallic taste pinched at the back of her throat. She wanted to cough, or maybe spit into a sink but she grew up with semi-southern manners and both of those things were inappropriate when she was trying to be quiet in the middle of the night. Instead, she stared at her disheveled reflection.

The hit had created a small slit in the center of her nose, not hard enough to break it, but hard enough to create a hissing bruise under both of her honey eyes. It was spreading and the itching feeling of self-dread was clawing at her midsection. There was no way she could cover this up with some foundation. Emily let out a shaky breath and dug her fingers into the granite countertop.

She froze when she heard a familiar creak. The third floorboard in the hallway had a nasty whine that would alert any of the Bella’s to a late-night entrance. When she couldn’t sleep some nights, Emily would listen for the front door then hold her breath until she heard the subtle noise.  _At least they were sober enough to get to their rooms_ she would think before going back to staring at the slowly oscillating fan.

Everything was dark when she stumbled in, though. Finals week. Late nights of studying but not late enough for the sun to slowly start peeking out beneath the clouds. She drew in a sharp inhale and stood up straight. Fuck.

She regretted not closing the bathroom door all the way.

Beca was leaning sleepily against the doorframe, her hand under her logoed t-shirt as she scratched at the hem of her pants. Her hair was in a messy bun and she stifled a yawn as the two of them froze at the sight of one another. Emily secretly prayed that this would be a situation where they just passed each other in the night- no conversation, no questions. Beca was good at not asking questions.

“What the  _hell_ happened to your face?”

Emily let out a quick groan in response. No such luck. Suddenly her captain was awake, and her warm touch was under her chin. Even having just stirred, she smelled lavender over the metallic edge of blood that caked under her nose.

“It was dark. I ran into a door.” She batted the woman’s fingers away and crossed her arms over her chest.

“As much as I would love to believe that you’re that clumsy, Legacy, I’m pretty sure someone fucked you up. And if someone fucked you up-“

“It’s fine, Beca.”

“It’s clearly not. Go sit on the toilet.”

She opened her mouth to object but got a stilled look that could kill Medusa right on the spot. So, she found herself sitting on a fuzzy pink toilet seat cover that Chloe insisted on getting to match the shower curtain. No one objected, because it kind of worked, and Emily had something to run her fingers against while she watched Beca fling open the medicine cabinet and search for what she needed.

Beca had grabbed enough bandages to patch up a village, some peroxide and cloth, before plopping down on the edge of the bathtub. It gave her height over Emily for once and she squinted her eyes in the bathroom light before flicking on the faucet and wetting the cloth.

“I said the wrong thing again.” Emily mumbled and Beca hummed in response. “I was at this kickback that turned into a party and… I don’t know, had some stuff to drink. I wasn’t that sober until some girl named Kasey decked me in the face.”

Beca flashed her midnight eyes to the girl motioned for her to lean closer. Emily did without hesitation and barely flinched when Beca pressed the cloth to the first layer of blood. It stung and her eyes threatened to water but she swallowed back the lump in her throat and breathed in the older woman’s concerned and focused stare. That same scent of lavender was still there. Calming.

“I didn’t even know I was sitting next to her boyfriend. He was on the other side of me- but you know- my foot got caught in my mouth like it always does and I-ow!”

“Sorry,” Beca whispered, pulling the cloth away. “It’s not your fault.”

“Clearly it is, I got punched in the face.”

Beca snorted as she looked town and struggled to peel the wax paper from the bandage. Finally snagging it and pulling the opposite ends aside. “No, it’s not. It’s just who you are. Some people are meant to make calculated decisions and some people are meant to ramble until all the puzzle pieces click together in their heads. As long as you’re the person to punch another girl in the face at a,” She frowned “What’d you call it? A kickback?”

“The terms coming back into style,” She nodded affirmatively.

“Whatever, just… Until the day you learn how to start a normal conversation, I will have to be there to fix the messes you make. Now, hold still.”

Emily wasn’t sure if she should be offended or not. Her eyebrow shot up, and this time she scrunched her eyebrows when Beca carefully placed the bandage over her nose. It had finally stopped bleeding, and that left the two of them staring at each other in a dully lit bathroom during the witching hour.

Emily’s voice was watery, a dull whisper of hope. “Thank you.”  


End file.
